Chapter 24
"Marked for Erasure"
Sung Ho no longer recognized himself in the mirror.
The boy who once sat quietly at the back of the class, clutching books too tightly, was gone. In his place stood a hollow-eyed wretch, skin pale, lips cracked, veins bulging from sleepless nights. He muttered constantly now, fragments of prayers, curses, pleas to gods he wasn't sure existed.
No one sat near him at school anymore. His desk had become an island. The moment he entered the classroom, whispers began:
"Don't look at him."
"He's crazy. Dangerous."
"Maybe he'll snap and stab someone."
He wanted to shout back, No, I'm not crazy. He's the crazy one. Xin Min is dead! But the words stuck in his throat. No one would listen. No one had ever listened.
Every day, his eyes drifted to the back of the room. To him. To Xin Min—alive, whole, smirking. Sometimes their eyes would meet, and Sung Ho swore he could see something vast staring back at him. Not the eyes of a bully. Not even the eyes of a human.
Something ancient. Something patient.
One rainy evening, Sung Ho sat on his bed with the journal spread across his lap. He wrote furiously by candlelight, the scratching of the pen the only sound in his room.
They think I'm mad. They think I'm broken. But I know the truth. He died. I saw the river. I saw the bloated skin. No one believes me, but I will prove it. If I must die to show it, then so be it.
The words bled into the page. His hand cramped, but he couldn't stop. He pressed harder and harder until the nib tore through the paper.
At last, exhausted, he fell back, staring at the flickering shadows on the ceiling. His heart beat so fast he thought it might break his ribs.
In the corner of the room, he swore he saw someone standing. Watching. Smiling.
He didn't sleep that night.
Meanwhile, in their hidden residence, Maverick polished the blade resting across his knees. Voldrack stood stiffly by the window, arms folded. Zaratul reclined, humming to himself, his humanoid form lazily shifting as if the flesh were clay.
"The boy will break soon," Voldrack said. His voice was low, taut. "He's drawing attention with his madness. The teachers, the students—people will start whispering beyond the school. Whispers spread."
"They spread like disease," Zaratul added with a grin. "And disease is only cured by death. Why not let me do it, Master? Quick. Clean. Snap—gone." He mimed twisting a neck.
Maverick's eyes stayed fixed on the blade. He spoke without inflection. "No. If he vanishes suddenly, suspicion lingers. Whispers may spread differently."
"Then what?" Voldrack asked.
"It must be clean. No ripple. He vanishes, and the world shrugs."
Zaratul leaned forward, interest glinting in his crimson eyes. "An accident, then?"
"Yes," Maverick said simply. "Something inevitable. Something no one questions."
The rain outside hammered against the window, relentless. Maverick set the blade aside and closed his eyes, already seeing it. A bridge slick with rain. A trembling boy too lost in his terror to watch his footing. One shove, one slip, and the river swallows him.
No ripple.
The following days stretched Sung Ho thinner and thinner. His classmates avoided him like plague. The teachers spoke to him in clipped, cold tones, their patience worn down to nothing.
He muttered in the halls, eyes darting, fingers twitching. He hadn't eaten properly in days. His stomach churned with acid. He smelled of sweat and damp clothes.
At night, he heard whispers under his door. He felt eyes staring through the window. He pressed his ear to the wall and swore he could hear water rushing. Always water.
He couldn't endure it much longer. He knew that. His body knew that.
One night, the rain fell heavier than ever. The city was shrouded in mist, streetlights casting blurred halos in the darkness. Sung Ho walked aimlessly, his umbrella forgotten somewhere behind him. Water soaked through his uniform, plastered his hair to his forehead. His shoes slapped against the wet pavement.
He didn't know where he was going. His feet carried him forward, over streets, through alleys, until at last he found himself on the old bridge stretching over the swollen river. The water below churned violently, swollen from the storm.
He gripped the railing and stared down. The river roared, hungry. His chest tightened.
How easy it would be, he thought. One step. One fall. And it would all end.
His hands trembled. His knuckles whitened on the iron rail.
Behind him, footsteps. Soft. Deliberate.
He turned—and froze.
Xin Min stood there. Or the thing that wore his face. Raindrops traced down his pale skin. His smirk was faint, almost casual. But the eyes… the eyes were endless.
"You're not him," Sung Ho whispered. His throat was raw. "You're not Xin Min. You're—"
The words died.
Xin Min's smirk widened just slightly. He said nothing. Just watched. Waiting.
Sung Ho staggered back, nearly slipping on the slick concrete. His heart pounded in his chest, loud as the rushing water.
For a moment, the two of them stood there, alone on the bridge, rain cascading around them, the roar of the river beneath their feet.
The predator. The trembling rat.
The end was close